


Remembering the Past So That We Can Forget It

by Larry_Klaine_Stylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Cutting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mentions of child abuse, mentions of cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larry_Klaine_Stylinson/pseuds/Larry_Klaine_Stylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was abused when he was younger, and it's something that hardly anyone knows about him. It drove him to self harm, and one day, Louis sees his cuts and wants to know the story behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering the Past So That We Can Forget It

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a prompt fill on Tumblr.

Harry was lying on his bed in his and Louis' shared flat, fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper. He needed to keep it down past his wrist, because he'd cut himself the night before, and he didn't want Louis or anyone else to see it.

He hadn't cut in a very long time, and he'd thought he was better, but something had triggered him last night and he just couldn't help it. He still had a few razors hidden in a small bag folded up inside a pair of socks in the back of one of his drawers. He kept them around because they gave him a sense of comfort, just knowing they were there. But on nights when he was triggered, having them around wasn't quite so helpful.

He wasn't quite sure what had triggered him, if he was being honest. There had been a flash of a memory of his childhood that had run through his head briefly, but it was nothing that should have been triggering. It didn't even have his father in it. But it must have reminded him of him somehow. He tried to block his father out altogether.

When Harry was little, his father had been abusive. Not with his mother and not with Gemma, because they were women and apparently he "would never hit a woman", so all of the abuse had been placed upon Harry. He was little when it started, and he didn't know there was anything wrong with it. It was only once he got older and saw that his mate's parents didn't treat them like that that he realized it wasn't exactly normal. And it wasn't until he was about eleven that he realized it was completely wrong, and that parents weren't supposed to hurt their kids, even if they did forget to throw away their juice boxes or if they left their dinosaurs out on the floor.

He was thinking back on all of this, fiddling with his sleeve, when there was a knock at the door. He quickly laid his arms down on the bed, trying to look as if he hadn't been obsessively fiddling with his sleeve, though he probably just looked suspicious, lying there and doing absolutely nothing.

"Come in!" He called out.

Louis opened the door and took a step into the room, he took one look at Harry, and Harry knew he must not have been doing a good job of hiding how lost in thought and rather morose he was feeling, because Louis was quickly crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. I almost never see you look so gloomy. Something's up." Louis said, looking down at him with a stern look in his eyes.

"It's nothing, Lou. I promise."

"Well, if there's nothing wrong, then let's get a smile on your face, shall we?"

Before Harry knew what was happening, Louis was pouncing on top of him, straddling his waist and tickling him in the sides mercilessly. Harry began to giggle a bit despite himself, and as Louis' tickles became harsher, Harry began full on laughing. He began to flail a little, trying to jostle Louis off of him. He was extremely ticklish and if Louis didn't stop soon he was probably going to piss his pants.

He shoved at Louis' chest, trying to push him backwards off of him, and Louis grabbed each of Harry's wrists, pinning them down to the bed. Harry winced at the feel of Louis' hand wrapped tightly around his right wrist where his rather fresh cuts were, and he saw Louis' expression change, from eye-crinkling laughter to confusion and a bit of concern.

He pulled his hands away, and that's when Harry realized that the sleeves of his jumper had ridden up, and he could feel the cool air of the room on his cuts, and Louis' eyes were focused on his wrist, and he knew that Louis knew what those were, but he just wanted to pretend that he didn't know.

"Harry." Louis said sadly.

"Don't use that tone of voice." Harry said softly. "Don't speak to me like I'm a child whose favorite toy has gone missing."

Louis climbed off of Harry, lying down next to him, both of them looking up at the ceiling and not at each other.

"How long have you been doing that?" Louis asked.

"Since I was about...Twelve, I think." Harry said, trying to remember when exactly it had started. "It hasn't happened in ages, though."

"Harry, you've got fresh cuts right there on your wrist." Louis argued.

"I meant...I meant it had been ages, before last night."

"What happened last night then?" Louis asked.

"Just...A memory."

"A memory?"

"Yeah." Harry bit his lip, not really wanting to discuss this.

"What sort of a memory would cause you to hurt yourself like that, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes, "It wasn't even a bad memory."

"Then why? What happened?"

Harry was chewing on his lip now, anxiety filling him as he thought about his options. He could lie to Louis, give him some bullshit excuse and be done with it. Or he could tell him the truth. The truth that he'd only ever really discussed with Gemma, and even then he hadn't gone into much detail. He didn't want to burden her with it.

"D'you want the whole story?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Please." Louis said, and he sounded so sincere and so caring, that Harry knew he had to tell him.

"It's not a happy one." He warned.

"I had assumed." Louis replied, his tone sounding joking but humorless all at once.

Harry stayed looking at the ceiling, but he could feel Louis' eyes on him, and it made his skin prickle a little. This would be easier if Louis wasn't looking at him. This would be easier if it had never happened at all...

"Alright." Harry took a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of his lungs expanding and then deflating as he let the air back out.

"Take your time." Louis said, reaching over and taking Harry's hand, lacing their fingers together.

For some reason, that made it even harder for Harry to speak, but he didn't want to ask Louis to let go, because he needed the comfort. He really really needed the comfort.

"When I was young," Harry began. "My dad started um...He started slapping me around a bit." Harry managed to say. "It wasn't bad at first, but I was little. I was resilient, and I think he was afraid to hit me too hard, because little kids don't know how to lie, and I don't think he wanted me to have bruises for people to ask me about.

"And then I got older, and I saw that most parents didn't hit their kids the way my dad hit me. Sometimes my mates would get a spanking or whatever, but not all of them even got punished that way at all. Some of them just got sent to their room or told off for doing something bad. I always liked the parents who handled things that way. I spent more time at my friend's houses if their parents disciplined like that. I got enough beatings of my own at home.

"And then I got older, and he started hitting me harder. I had reached the age where I could understand what 'Don't tell your friends about this' meant, and I knew how to tell all of the lies he fed me convincingly, because he made me practice. I fell down the stairs, or I twisted my ankle playing football. I scraped my face while climbing a tree with one too many rogue branches." Harry shrugged. "You get the idea.

"My mum knew deep down, I think, but she was afraid to say anything or do anything. I'd never told her it was happening, so I think she just let herself pretend it wasn't. I was a clumsy child, and so it wouldn't have been too hard to believe that I'd fallen down the stairs or done a flip over the handle bars of my bike, if it weren't for the fact that it happened at least once a week for a while. And I used to resent her for sitting idly by, by as I got older I realized that it wasn't because she was okay with it, it was because she was scared.

"My teachers seemed to take notice, but no one ever really did anything. I was convincing enough when I told them all my lies, although if I'm remembering correctly, one teacher did try to look into it more. My favorite teacher. My English teacher from when I was about thirteen or so, I think it was. But nothing ever came of that." Harry let out a deep sigh. "Dad left eventually, and that's when I told Gemma about what had happened. She was furious with me for not telling her sooner, insisting that she could've helped me. But I wasn't going to risk putting her in danger like that.

"Even she doesn't really know the extent of it. She doesn't know it started when I was so young, or that one time he got so mad at me for forgetting to pick up two cartons of eggs instead of one that he smacked me in the back with a wooden spoon." A choked sob escaped Harry's throat, and up until that point he hadn't even registered that he'd been crying.

"I told Gem about the cutting. Mum knew, too. They made me go to therapy, but it never really helped. Maybe because I never talked about the real problem. My dad had it engrained in my head that I was not allowed to speak about it, under any circumstance, and in my mind, that included speaking to therapists, even once he was gone." Harry shrugged a bit, eyes still glued to the ceiling, but filled with tears now as well. "He messed me up pretty badly, I guess.

"And then last night I had a memory. It was a happy memory, though. Mum and I were playing at the park together, she was helping me across the monkey bars. And I don't know why I-" Harry stopped short, because suddenly he realized exactly why it had triggered him. "No...No, I know why."

Louis stayed silent, as he had been the whole time, and Harry wondered if he was just trying to let Harry work it out, or if for some reason this story had given him some reason to dislike Harry. His hand was still holding Harry's firmly, though, and Harry figured that if Louis was disgusted by him, he would have pulled his hand away by now. He figured Louis was just waiting for him to explain why the memory had triggered him.

"That was...It was a good day, for the most part. Mum, dad, Gemma and I went to the park and had a picnic for dinner, and mum helped me across the monkey bars while dad pushed Gem on the swing, and I tried not to look at dad too much, because it was hard for me to look him in the eyes. That was around the time that I'd reached the age where I realized beating your kids wasn't normal, and I felt a bit weird around him.

"The picnic was nice and the playing was nice. It was after we got home that wasn't so nice. Mum and Gemma were down around the kitchen table, and mum was helping Gem with her homework. I was in my room coloring, and dad came in. He looked...He looked mad. He couldn't yell like he usually did, because he didn't want mum and Gem to hear him. So he made his voice real low, and it was scary, you know? I was a little kid, and his voice was low, but it was angry, and that was worse than yelling, to me. I can't really remember much about it. I think he was mad about the way I'd made the sandwiches, because mum had let me help that day, and I think I'd made him the wrong sandwich. Things were...They were bad, that night. I had some bruises on my ribs that lasted a while, and it hurt to move too much. So I guess...I guess when I thought of playing at the park with mum, part of me thought of that, and so..." He trailed off, absentmindedly running his fingers over the cuts on his wrist. They were sore, and sort of itchy.

He was silent for a while, just breathing, letting the fact that he'd finally gotten all of that off of his chest seep into his bones. It felt nice having it all out there, but he wished Louis would say something. He just wanted some words of reassurance or something.

"That's...That's the end of the story, Lou." Harry said, clearing his throat a bit. "You can say something now, if you want..."

Louis didn't say anything, however.

Harry felt the tears prickling in his eyes again, as he was afraid that something about the story had put Louis off. That Louis was just trying to find a way to get out of there without being a complete twat.

But then Louis was rolling over a bit and wrapping his arms tightly around him. He buried his face in Harry's chest, and Harry could feel hot tears seeping through his jumper, and he realized that the reason Louis hadn't been speaking all this time was because he was crying. He wrapped his arms around Louis in return, and decided to let himself cry as well. He'd bottled up his emotions about this for too long, and it was time to let them all come out fully.

He felt the tears roll down his cheeks as he stopped holding everything back, and little hiccuping sobs shook his body. Louis held him tighter, and Harry could hardly breathe from the combination of his relentless tears, and Louis' strong arms holding him as tightly as he could.

After a good long while, they both stopped crying, and Louis untangled himself from Harry, though he was still laying half on top of him.

"Harry, it's...It's not fair that that happened to you. I wish I could go back in time and take you away from it all."

Harry smiled a little, "It's alright, Lou."

"It's not." Louis said. "But I know what you mean. There's nothing I can do. Nothing I could've done."

Harry nodded.

They were both silent then, looking into each other's eyes, and then Louis reached up, wiping away what was left of the tear tracks down Harry's face, and Harry gave him a small smile. Louis leaned in, kissing every inch of his face so gently that were Harry not able to see Louis' face right in front of him, he might have thought that someone was gently tracing a feather along his skin. He kissed the top of Harry's head, and the very tip of his chin. His cheeks, and his forehead, and everywhere in between. He then stopped and hovered over Harry's lips, whispering softly, "You're amazing, Harry." before closing the space between their lips and giving him a gentle peck. He pulled back after a second or two and brushed his nose gently against Harry's, and Harry smiled up at him, Louis' blue eyes twinkling brightly.

Louis laid down next to him then, scooting in close so their sides touched, and tangling his fingers with Harry's again, "Next time you're feeling triggered, tell me, okay? I'm not going to let you out of my sight when you're feeling that way. We'll watch films and play games and drink hot cocoa, yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded with a grin.

"You promise you'll tell me next time?" Louis said, nudging Harry's shoulder with his own.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time." Harry said. "But if there is, I'll come to you right away. I swear."

"Good." Louis said, squeezing Harry's hand. "Thank you for trusting me with that story, Harry. I love you."

"I'd trust you with anything." Harry smiled, leaning over and kissing Louis on the temple, feeling relieved to have finally gotten all of that off his chest. "I love you, too."


End file.
